Between the Suns
by sjepstein
Summary: The day Threepio, R2, and the Jawas came to the Lars Homestead... Seen through the eyes of Owen Lars.


Between the Suns

It was already late afternoon when Owen Lars heard the Jawa transport in the distance. Typical, he thought. He'd asked them to come in the morning. He was making his way from the far end of the farm to where the Jawas were waiting.

He stopped, pausing at the foot of one of the vaporators. Mushrooms were growing. Owen would let them grow—for as long as they didn't interfere with the machinery—and then prune them back, just enough. His father, Cliegg, had developed that tradition in memory of Owen's stepmother.

The mushrooms still reminded Owen of Shmi. Although he'd been about fifteen when his father had married her, she was still the only mother he'd ever known. His own mother had died when Owen was very young. _That_, more than the accident of marriage, had really meant that he and Anakin really had shared a mother.

"Luke? Luke? Luke?" he heard Beru's voice calling across the homestead. "Be sure to tell uncle that if he gets a translator, to be sure it speaks Bacci." Owen smiled. Even thirty years later...

And then, Luke's reply, shot across the farm: "Doesn't look like we have much of a choice, but I'll remind him."

Owen shook off his reverie. He met his nephew at the near end of the farm, and perused the droid selection offered by the Jawas.

There wasn't much to choose from. Most of the droids were in the process of falling apart. There were two, though, that looked new.

Owen passed his gaze over them again, and was hit by a sudden wall of dread. There was something... He looked at the golden protocol droid. The same model as Shmi's Threepio, all those years ago, but in better condition. Threepio had worked very well on the farm for years—helping program the vaporators and load lifters—until he left with Anakin the day Shmi was buried. _That one_, Owen thought. _And one more—maybe an astromech?_

He scanned the selection again—there were two astromechs—a blue one and a red one—the blue one in much better condition.

But when Owen focused again on the blue one, that feeling of dread came back—even more strongly. He decided to buy the red one. Then he walked up to the protocol droid, and said, "You. I bet you're programmed for etiquette and protocol."

"Protocol? Why, It's my primary function, sir. I am well versed in all the customs—"

Owen cut him off. "I have no need for a protocol droid."

"Of course you haven't, sir. Not in an environment such as this. That is why I have been programmed—"

"What I really need is a droid who understands the binary language of moisture vaporators."

"Vaporators?" the droid replied. "Sir, my first job was programming binary load lifters. Very similar to your vaporators in most respects."

"Can you speak Bacci?"

"Of course I can, sir. It's like a second language to me. I'm as fluent in—"

Owen cut him off again. "All right. Shut up. I'll take this one."

"Shutting up, sir," the droid said. Always proper etiquette...

"Luke?" Owen called. Luke came over. "Take these two over to the garage, will you? I want them cleaned up before dinner.

"But I was going in to the Tashi Station to pick up some power converters!" Luke whined.

Ah, to be young and impetuous, Owen thought. _But was I ever really impetuous, even when I was young?_ He thought. "You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done. Now come on, get to it."

"All right, come on," Luke sighed at the droids, "and the red one, come on—well come on, Red, let's go," and led them off to the garage.

On the edge of his attention, he heard something explode. "Uncle Owen," Luke called. "This R2 unit has a bad motivator."

Owen turned back to the Jawas: "What are trying to push on us?" he demanded.

"What about that one?" he heard Luke call.

_I guess it'll _have _to be the blue one_, Owen thought. _It's just a feeling. It'll pass_. "What about that blue one?" he asked the Jawas. "We'll take that one."

Owen nodded, and the blue R2 unit moved to join Luke and the protocol droid. Owen settled the bill with the Jawas—taking a little off for that bad R2 unit—even though they did get the droid that was in better condition. The Jawas were none to happy about it, but, realizing how much business the Lars homestead did with them, they accepted it.

Owen walked down into the dwelling unit, and into the kitchen, where Beru was making dinner. He put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her forehead.

"What was that for?" she asked, smiling.

"Just because," he replied.

"I heard Luke saying that he thought there'd been some kind of battle in orbit last night," she said.

"You sure it wasn't his imagination?"

"I'm never sure it's not his imagination," Beru replied. She really seemed to enjoy Luke's flights of fancy. Owen, for his part, had trouble understanding the impulses behind them.

"I hope," he said, "that whatever it was, it wasn't Imperial." Technically in the Empire—in a way it never was in the Republic—Tatooine still usually remained off the Imperial sensor screens. Half the planet was still firmly controlled by the Hutts. The other, technically under the auspices of the Outer Rim Imperial Governor, had managed to retain a certain amount of local autonomy.

But local politics wasn't why Owen feared the Imperials. He was always nervous that some ambitious officer would discover Luke's identity, and would take him from them.

Beru opened the cupboard, and started setting the table for dinner. Owen reached over to help her. They were ready to start eating when they realized Luke hadn't joined them. Beru called for him.

"You know, I think that R2 unit we bought might have been stolen?" Luke said as he came into the dining room.

"What makes you think that?" Owen asked.

"Well, I stumbled across a recording while I was cleaning him. He says he belongs to someone called 'Obi-Wan Kenobi.' I thought he might have meant old Ben. Do you know what he's talking about?"

Owen looked at Beru, who looked back. And at the mention of Obi-Wan, that feeling of dread came flooding back. Owen still remembered the day Obi-Wan arrived with the infant Luke. The timing couldn't have been worse—or better, depending on one's point of view. The doctors—specialists at Mos Eisely—had just told him and Beru—after years of trying—that they could never have children of their own. And when Beru saw Luke...

Owen truly did love Luke as his son. He knew from experience that one didn't need to be biologically related to be family. And both he and Beru had felt a connection to Luke's parents—Beru in particular had bonded with Padmé during her visit here.

But he resented Obi-Wan's crouching just beyond the Judland Wastes. Almost as if he was waiting to pounce—to come for Luke when he thought Luke was old enough. Bad enough that he'd led Anakin into war—worse yet that he'd admitted that his own pupil, Darth Vader, had murdered Anakin. Darth Vader was still a power in the Empire. Would Obi-Wan bring Vader down on Luke?

"I wonder if he's related to Ben," Luke said.

"That wizard's just a crazy old man," Owen said. Best to nip this in the bud. "Tomorrow I want you to take that R2 unit to Anchorhead and have its memory erased. That'll be the end of it. It belongs to us now."

"But what if this Obi-Wan comes looking for it?" Luke asked.

"He won't. I don't think he exists anymore. He died about the same time as your father."

"He knew my father?" Luke asked, excitement coming into his voice for the first time in hours.

_That might have been a mistake—mentioning Anakin_, Owen thought. "I told you to forget it," he said. "Your only concern is to prepare those new droids for tomorrow. In the morning I want them up there on the south ridge working on those condensers."

"Yes, sir," Luke said. A pause, and then: "I think those droids are going to work out fine," Luke was saying. "In fact, I was also thinking about our agreement—about me staying on another season? And if these new droids _do_ work out, and I want to transmit my application to the Academy _this _year."

"You mean the next semester before the harvest?" Owen asked.

"Sure—there are more than enough droids—"

Owen cut him off. "Harvest is when I need you the most. It's only one season more. This year we'll make enough on the harvest that I'll be able to hire some more hands... You can go to the Academy next year. You must understand I need you here, Luke."

"But it's a whole 'nother year," Luke whined.

"It's only one more season," Owen countered.

"Yeah. That's what you said when Biggs and Tank left," Luke said, getting up.

"Where are you going?" Beru asked him.

"Looks like I'm going nowhere," Luke retorted. "I have to go finish cleaning those droids."

Beru turned to look at Owen. "Owen, he can't stay here forever. Most of his friends have gone. It means so much to him."

But what happens to Luke, Owen thought, when the Skywalker name shows up on the Academy rolls? And should Luke change his name to Lars, to avoid attention? And how would Owen explain _that_, after having told Luke all these years that Anakin had been nothing but a navigator. The last thing he wanted for his nephew was to end up on the wrong end of a red Sith lightsaber.

"I'll make it up to him next year," Owen said. And as long as Luke stayed on the farm, he thought, there _would_ be a next year. "I promise."

"Luke's just not a farmer, Owen," Beru said. "He's got too much of his father in him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Owen replied.

The End


End file.
